


facepalm&flail

by thecheekydragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3 person POV, Community: twreveresebang, Derek is still an Alpha, Facepalm, Fic for Art, Flail - Freeform, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, POV Derek, POV Peter, POV Stiles, Sassy Peter, Scott is an alpha too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:58:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheekydragon/pseuds/thecheekydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles flails and Derek facepalms through life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	facepalm&flail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [twreversebang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com) based on art by the wonderful [chef_geekier](http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/). Go and leave her some love [HERE](http://chef-geekier.livejournal.com/63948.html).  
>  
> 
> Used a three-person POV for this one - Derek, Stiles, Peter. I think it works but you be the judge.

  


O~O~O

“So,” Peter says. “I may have inadvertently pissed off a faerie queen last night who has vowed to exact revenge on the entire pack and its immediate affiliates. If you ask me, the whole exacting revenge thing is a little melodramatic, even for a queen faerie, but we should probably consider it a threat nevertheless.”

Derek blinks a few times – slowly – a tactic he has learned helps to keep his inner angry wolf to stay, well, _inner_. Then he does what he always does when confronted with his uncle’s particular brand of…Peter-ness. He sighs (non-dramatically, of course) and slaps a palm over his face.

“Ha!” cries Stiles, whipping out his cell phone and snapping a picture. “Dude, that is so perfect,” he expresses with an obnoxious amount of glee. “Gonna add this to my _facepalm &flail_ pinboard and see how many likes and repins it gets.”

“Affiliates?” Derek asks Peter through his fingers. Then to Stiles, “What?”

Stiles ignores him, tapping at his phone and grinning maniacally. Derek wonders, and not for the first time, if there is something wrong with the kid. 

When he is done ‘pinning’ the photo to his ‘pinboard’ – or so Derek _assumes_ , it’s not like he _knows_ about these things or follows Stiles’ pinterest or anything – Stiles turns to Peter with a sardonic look and says, “Really. _Inadvertently_?”

Peter rolls his eyes. And, really, if you want to talk dramatic, his uncle’s eye rolling is epic in that regard. In fact, Derek would say that Peter is the King of the Dramatic Eye Roll. Peter ignores Stiles and tells Derek, “ Affiliates.” He hooks a thumb at Stiles. “Like your favorite chew toy here--”

“Hey!” Stiles squawks in protest.

“—and any Hale Pack friendlies,” Peter finishes. “Which I am assuming includes the _Sheriff_ of Beacon County,” he gives Stiles a pointed look, “and that hot nurse who is somehow related to _Scott_.” Peter adopts a look of incredulity.

Derek sighs again. Okay, so maybe his sighs are a little dramatic but he feels some drama is warranted given the circumstances. He moves his palm from his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. Stiles doesn’t snap a picture of this and Derek can’t decide if he’s thankful or offended.

“Could you maybe go one month without pissing off some supernatural baddie so that the pack and its _affiliates_ don’t have to, you know, _fear for our lives_?” Stiles snarks at Peter. 

“Well, it’s not like _someone_ didn’t invite a succubus to pack dinner last week,” Peter snarks back. He shoots Stiles a sardonic look to match the kid’s earlier one. “She was rather lovely and all, right up until she sprouted wings and horns, not to mention a set of very nasty teeth, when dessert was passed around.”

“That was a mistake!” Stiles huffs indignantly.

Peter lifts an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Really. An _inadvertent_ mistake?”

Stiles crosses his arms and stares daggers at Derek’s uncle. “Fuck. You.”

“Enough,” Derek says – he moves to massage his temples now – putting a stop to the back-and-forth snarking. Because Stiles and Peter could (and would) do this all day. Derek knows this from experience.

“Call the packs together,” he tells Stiles. “We need a plan.”

**

Derek outlines The Plan to the members of the Hale and McCall packs gathered at the loft, Stiles ‘helpfully’ interjecting Derek’s every other word like an audio (and considerably more irritating) version of CliffsNotes. Peter can smell Derek’s exasperation, mixed with the _other_ thing, and gives his eyes a sympathetic roll.

Peter doesn’t know why Derek doesn’t just bite the kid. Well, he does. It’s because his nephew has these pesky _morals_ that take all the fun out of everything. If it were up to Peter he’d bite Stiles, consent or no consent, just to shut the annoying little brat up.

Or maybe what Derek needs to do is just fuck the kid senseless (and, mercifully, _silent_ ). That would make a whole lot of people happy – Peter included. Because, really, there’s sexual tension and then there’s Sexual Tension.

“Any questions?” Derek says, rounding off his talk. 

Peter is surprised Stiles doesn’t follow with the exact same question just to mimic his alpha nephew in that annoying way that is so characteristic of him. The kid isn’t even part of Derek’s pack. Stiles is technically Scott’s pesky problem, although he fancies himself as some kind of ambassador for both packs. (Scott and Derek are total cock-whipped alphas who pretty much let the human teenager rule over them. It was embarrassing for werewolves everywhere, frankly.)

Scott’s face screws up in apparent thought. “So, if there’s like a _queen_ faerie, is there like a _king_ faerie?”

Peter watches Stiles scramble to get his phone out as Derek puts his face in both palms.

“Stiles!” his nephew growl-mumbles behind his hands. “I swear to God, if you take a picture of me and pin it to your pinterest collection--”

Ha! Peter knew Derek followed Stiles’ pinterest board. And, really, that is just an uncool level of creepy, as far as Peter is concerned. What is it that Stiles calls Derek? A fail wolf? Yes, his nephew is a _fail wolf_. The guy doesn’t even know how to creep cool.

Stiles looks guilty for all of a second and then sneakily snaps a picture, shoving his phone into the pocket of his hoodie quickly before Derek can catch him.

Peter sinks further into the couch and lets out a chuckle. Stiles may be an irritating human-sized flea most of the time but the kid had moments of funny, especially when it came to annoying the hell out of Peter’s nephew. He might even admit to actually _liking_ the kid during those times. 

As others begin to ask questions (Derek’s plans are typically full of multiple serious hitches), Peter makes a mental note to send Stiles his own collection of pictures featuring Derek facepalming through life. 

His nephew isn’t the only one who follows Stiles’ _facepalm &flail_ pinterest.

**

Stiles knows he’s playing with fire.

(And, yes, he gets the macabre irony of this, thank you.)

But he hangs back anyway after everyone leaves. Well, everyone except _Peter_ because Derek’s creepy psycho undead uncle is an asshole who refuses to take a fucking hint just to make Stiles’ life difficult. And awkward. Really awkward.

“So,” Stiles says casually, running a hand through his hair spikes in an effort to offset his default tendency to flail. “The Plan is…good.” He tries not to falter on that last word. 

Derek raises his eyebrows. Stiles hears Peter huff a laugh in the background. 

“No, really, it is,” Stiles insists and Derek’s brows shoot a notch higher.

Stiles thinks about pressing the point but ends up heaving a sigh instead. Who the fuck is he kidding? Derek’s plans are epically sucky. They all knew it, including Derek.

“Okay, so it’s got the potential to blow up in all of our faces,” Stiles admits with an expansive twirl of his arms (it doesn’t count as flailing, alright?). “But hey, nothing like living on the side of danger, right?” 

Peter, the asshole, outright _cackles_. 

Derek shoots his uncle a glare. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he says through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth. 

“Not particularly,” Peter returns with a smirk.

Derek’s eyes flash red and Peter begrudgingly gets up from the couch and strolls toward the sliding door of the loft. Derek waits until his uncle has left and is on his way down the stairs (presuming, of course, that Peter hasn’t decided to plant himself on the other side of the door to eavesdrop, which Stiles frankly wouldn’t put past him) before he turns his attention back to Stiles.

“The plan sucks, doesn’t it,” Derek states with a look of gruff resignation.

“Just a little?” Stiles replies with a pinched look of apology. 

Derek sighs. It’s about a six on the Dramatic Scale, Stiles assesses. 

“It’s okay, though,” Stiles tells him. “We’ll figure it out.” He offers Derek an awkward grin in support. 

Derek’s sigh this time is a definite eight. 

Later, when he gets home and checks his email, Stiles finds one from Peter. There’s no subject line or text but there are several image attachments. Stiles opens the first one warily. 

It’s a picture of Derek in two-handed facepalm pose. 

Yeah. So Peter is an asshole and creepy as hell but the living dead werewolf has a wicked sense of humor, which is something Stiles can appreciate. 

He spends the rest of the evening uploading his newly acquired pictures of Derek-in-various-facepalm-poses to his pinterest collection, humming with glee the whole way through.

O~O~O

As predicted, The Plan is a little sucky and goes off with multiple series hitches.

They lick their wounds – well, Stiles takes a _shower_ but he supposes it amounts to the same thing – regroup, and develop a new plan, this time giving Scott a turn. (Peter strongly doubts the wisdom of putting the task of decision-making into the hands of a newbie alpha barely out of puberty but nobody ever listens to _him_ , do they?)

Scott’s plan doesn’t fare any better. Derek tries not to feel too smug about that but it’s difficult. 

So they go back to the drawing board. Nobody protests when Lydia declares herself the new Mistress of Plans. 

O~O~O

“Who would have thought shaking one’s booty could be so… _sinful_ ,” Peter remarks, his gaze fixed on the dance floor, positively _leering_.

Derek glares at him. He’s used to Peter’s lascivious leering – he is sure some variation of it is what got them into this mess in the first place. But when said leering is directed at _Stiles_? Derek is both man and alpha enough to admit it gives him the creeps. 

They had come to the dance club in search of the faerie queen as per Lydia’s orders. Apparently the queen had a weakness for clubbing and Jungle was the only spot in town that even remotely came close to offering an atmosphere conducive to such an activity. They kept a lookout for the queen for almost an hour but she was a no-show. Not surprisingly, Stiles got bored and had taken to the dance floor while Derek and his uncle bellied up to the bar to order a couple of double scotches on the rocks (for appearances sake only, although Derek suspects that Peter slipped some wolfs bane into each of their glasses when he wasn’t looking). 

Derek wants to smack the smirk Peter gives him right off his uncle’s face. He crosses his arms to hold back the urge and returns his own gaze (which is decidedly not at all leering) to the booty-shaking happening on the dance floor. 

He doesn’t think this often, but Peter is right. Shaking one’s booty – especially if that booty belongs to Stiles – is positively, without question, utterly and completely _sinful_. Jesus Christ. The kid’s got a patent on flailing in everyday life but the sinful way he moves his hips in tandem with the music’s beat has Derek’s inner wolf clawing at the surface and Derek licking his lips, _wanting_. 

It’s not long before Stiles’ sensuous gyrating draws the attention of other club patrons. _Several_ other patrons. Practically a goddamn horde. 

Derek narrows his eyes and emits a rumbling _growl_.

**

To say that his nephew is insanely bothered by the attention the kid’s booty-shaking is getting from the other club-mongers is a bit of an understatement. Peter doesn’t even need werewolf super senses to hear the dangerous growl Derek is emitting low in his throat, his gaze locked onto the dance floor like a laser beam, his body set to pounce, aiming to decimate the offenders. 

And, really, can anyone be blamed for the rather lustful reaction to the kid’s moves? Because for all his usual gracelessness, Stiles is a sinfully sensual dancer, rolling his hips and pelvis in a way that the straightest of men wouldn’t be able to resist. It’s no wonder, then, that his moves are bringing all the boys (and a few girls) to the yard while Derek growls furiously on the other side of the (metaphorical, of course) chain link fence. 

“Now, now, Derek,” he chides. “Pull your claws back in.” Peter hadn’t missed the claws extending along with the growling or the glowing red of his nephew’s eyes. With the slightest hint of a smirk, he deliberately drawls, “Surely, you don’t want to cause a scene.”

The Death Glare Derek shoots him is at least a seven or an eight on the Intensity Scale. Wow, his nephew has certainly worked himself up into quite a state, Peter thinks with fond amusement. Derek always did wear his emotions in the tilt of his eyebrows.

Peter gives Derek’s shoulder a pat. “Uncle Peter’s got this,” he says, giving Derek a wink. Then he strolls toward the dance floor.

If nothing else, he can certainly enjoy the view from closer up.

**

The hunt for the faerie queen ends up a total bust so when Derek and Peter turn to the bar for solace, Stiles takes to the dance floor.

To Stiles’ surprise, his moves seem to be catching the attention of a number of fellow booty-shakers. Which is weird, because Stiles doesn’t think he’s a particularly good dancer. He mostly just rolls his hips to the beat and tries not to flail his arms too much. At first, it’s just one or two who move in a little closer to him but this soon increases to five or six – all seemingly vying to get up in Stiles’ dancing grille. 

What can he say? He is a dancing machine, a dancing _master_. Yep, that’s what he is.

A hand suddenly grips his elbow. “Time to go,” Peter leans in to tell him. “Before The Big Bad Wolf starts ripping throats out with his teeth.”

_What?_

Peter starts to drag a flailing Stiles from the dance floor. Stiles is actually surprised the werewolf isn’t pulling him by the earlobe like a naughty little pup, which is the usual obnoxious way Peter does things. He is stopped, however, by a six-foot-two blonde in drag who steps in between them, fixing an intimidating glare at Peter.

Peter lifts his eyebrows. “Back it up, Blondie,” he commands. He flashes a disingenuous grin and jerks his head at Stiles. “He’s taken.”

 _I am?_ thinks Stiles.

‘Blondie’ doesn’t move. She crosses her arms instead and plants herself more solidly in front of Stiles. Peter huffs and tries to reach around to get a grip on Stiles and pull him along, probably figuring to use his werewolf strength to his advantage. 

A vicious shoving match ensues. 

It pretty much goes downhill from there. Stiles doesn’t even have to look to know that Derek has his hand slapped over his face. Because Stiles has awesome Derek-facepalm radar and he can just _sense_ it, okay?

He’s just sorry he’s a little preoccupied with trying to flail his way out of all the pushing and shoving now happening on the dance floor and can’t get his phone out to take a picture.

O~O~O

“My plan was _flawless_ ,” Lydia haughtily insists.

Derek doesn’t even bother to counter. He thinks having to bail both Peter and Stiles out of jail (and isn’t that embarrassing when Stiles’ dad is the _sheriff_ ) clearly suggests there were at least some flaws to Lydia’s plan. Instead, he looks to Scott and says, “Next time, I get Isaac and Cora.”

“Hey!” squawks Stiles, indignant. “It’s not my fault Psycho McPsychoson here--” he waves a hand at Derek’s uncle, “--decided to start a clubroom brawl!” 

“I was defending your honor,” Peter pipes up from where he’s slouched down on the couch.

“To a _drag queen_?”

Peter holds an ice pack up to his chin. “She did have a mean right hook,” he concedes dryly.

Derek can’t help it. He covers his face with his palm. 

He doesn’t even have to see or hear it to know that Stiles is taking a picture with his cell phone.

“Stiles!” he barks.

But, really. What’s the use?

**

Stiles tries not to be too hurt that Derek doesn’t want him on his team. He gets that he’s on Derek’s ‘team’ by default more than anything else. Scott and Isaac don’t trust Peter (really, who does?) and it was decided (by Stiles, who is the unofficial pack liaison) that having one member of the other pack on each team would best facilitate positive inter-pack relations. It doesn’t take a math genius the caliber of Lydia Martin to figure out how the teams have to be divided up. (Allison typically flits between the two groups, lending her badass huntress skills, while Lydia’s contribution tends to be mostly intellectual). The Peter factor aside, Stiles is generally okay with this arrangement, even if his placement is non-strategic. He knows there are limitations to being human and, as the more experienced werewolves, Derek and Peter help offset any liability Stiles brings to the group.

Still. He _is_ hurt that Derek wants to replace him with Isaac or Cora because, well. Because Stiles has got a super-sized curly fried _crush_ on the alpha werewolf, okay? He can admit it. Actually, he’s surprised Derek hasn’t clued in already. For the love of Scott, aliens from the farthest reaches of _space_ would be able to tell Stiles has got even a _happy meal_ crush on the guy. Geez. 

Stiles knows it’s stupid. He knows his crush is not likely to be reciprocated. It doesn’t stop him from stupidly crushing, though. It’s a character flaw he has – crushing on people who aren’t likely to ever crush back. You’d think Stiles would have learned his lesson with Lydia already. But apparently he’s a masochist who wants to experience the claw-and-fang version of rejection. 

Yay.

He sighs.

**

Peter hears the kid’s despondent sigh and mentally rolls his eyes. (Well, he aims for it to be mental but it’s more than likely not, he realizes). Seriously. His nephew and the brat are oblivious to the hundredth degree. First of all, Derek would trade _Peter_ (in less than a heartbeat) before he would _ever_ trade Stiles and the kid should know this. And secondly, Peter cannot comprehend how Derek hasn’t clued into the fact that Stiles has the ‘hots’ for him. 

It’s sad really. Just another one of those failwolf!Derek things, Peter supposes. His nephew really needs to work on that.

O~O~O

When Stiles devises a plan, it gets D-O-N-E _done_.

Yeah, that’s right.

The only problem is that Stiles’ plan might have involved Stiles as bait, which may or may not have gone a little awry, which may or may not have resulted in him almost getting killed. Still, it had all worked out in the end so Stiles figures he can count it as a win. 

Okay, so he’s maybe a little in-your-face smug about it, but that’s no reason for Derek to be angry. And Derek is angry. Boy, is he ever angry. Like eyebrows turned down menacingly and veins pulsing in his neck and forehead angry. It’s kind of scary.

“…so reckless and _stupid_!” Derek is saying – or yelling, rather – making all of the hearing-sensitive werewolves cringe. “You could have been killed!”

“Derek…” Stiles tries but is cut off immediately.

“You know what? I’m done,” Derek declares, crossing his arms against his chest so aggressively that, were he not a werewolf, Stiles is sure he would have sprained something. “I refuse to work with someone who has such little regard for his own life that he puts himself stupidly in danger--”

“Derek, you’re being irrational--” Stiles tries again.

“ _I’m_ being irrational?” Derek says, the clench of his jaw decidedly dangerous. He stares daggers at Stiles then launches into another tirade.

Stiles half-listens, counting the different variations of “stupid”, “reckless” and “idiot” Derek shouts at him and tries not to let the sting of the alpha’s words bother him too much. 

**

Peter looks to the vaulted ceiling of the loft. He can’t take this anymore. 

It’s obvious to even a half-wit (he casts a quick glance at Scott) that the reason Derek is yelling and carrying on like a drama queen is that he _cares_ (Peter would use a few other verbs to describe his nephew’s feelings but he’ll go with this one for now) about Stiles and doesn’t want to see the kid get eviscerated by some supernatural baddie. Still, even Peter thinks his nephew is being a bit of a jerk right now. Being called “stupid”, “reckless” and “idiotic” has its limits (Peter is not _completely_ heartless) and Stiles has got to be feeling the sting of those repeated words spewing from Derek’s mouth. 

Finally, there’s a break in his nephew’s tirade and Peter takes this opportunity to butt in. He rolls his eyes at the two of them and says what everyone else in the room is thinking: “Oh, just _kiss_ already!”

It’s almost comical the way Stiles and Derek gape and splutter in tandem.

**

Derek is stunned. He’s not even going to pretend he isn’t. He is definitely, one hundred percent _what the fuck_ stunned. Because really. Peter has surely lost whatever’s left of his mind. 

He’s pulled out of his stupor by a sharp flick of thumb and finger to the forehead. 

“Is _that_ what this is all about?” Stiles asks, his arms now crossed, his tone accusing. “You’re _yelling_ at me for putting myself in danger because you’ve got—what?--”

“Feelings,” Scott supplies.

“A crush,” Cora chimes.

“A thing,” Isaac offers.

“A boner,” Peter says.

“—for me?” Stiles finishes, giving Scott, Cora and Isaac a nod while rolling his eyes at Peter.

Derek crosses his own arms and huffs out a sigh. “Maybe?” he admits gruffly. 

Stiles’ amber eyes widen. For a split second, Derek is terrified the kid is repulsed by his confession. But in the next heartbeat, Stiles closes the distance between them, grabs Derek by the shirt and pulls him in, then covers Derek’s mouth with his own, kissing him hotly.

Derek _flails_.

It’s a strange feeling.

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles whispers against his lips. 

“You… _l-like_ me,” Derek stutters in disbelief. 

Stiles snorts out a laugh and slaps a palm over his face.

**

Peter taps his cell phone to upload the photo to his newly created pinterest board. He’ll send Stiles a copy of the photo later (along with the one of the kid facepalming), but his capture of Derek flailing mid-smooch is simply too perfect not to include in his _failwolf_ collection. His nephew will probably growl and threaten to rip his throat out with his teeth, yada, yada…but what else is new? Peter thinks, smirking down at the new pin.


End file.
